


Forget-Me-Not

by Miyukitty



Series: A Man for Flowers [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Hope, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pining, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/pseuds/Miyukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he had a fraction of Lucina's courage, Inigo caught himself thinking so many times, maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could be someone the others depended on.</p><p>If only a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> Been writing some Inigo-centric ship drabbles since entering FE:Fates hell and discovering the pure joy that is Soleil's existence; this one is for Lucina's birthday even though it's unrequited this time. 
> 
> I LIKE ROMO INIGO/LUCINA, BUT I LIKE PINING FICS?? everything I write is pining fics. I also like exploring weepy sensitive ENFP teenager inigo before he has figured out he is very gay and bigender <3

 

He poured the flask slowly, carefully measuring out the clean water. The wilted plant had yet to flower this season, but Inigo doggedly tended to it, refusing to believe the barren soil could not grow _anything_. He would have at least one flower to show for his efforts.

 

Inigo did not have much to believe in under the shadow of Grima's wings, but still, he _wanted_ to believe in _something_.

 

There could be more for him than tending to the flower he planted for Olivia. He wanted to believe his mother had not died in vain (his father when he was even younger, and that he would soon follow them both). He wanted to believe there was a place in this war-torn wasteland for an entertainer; not just performing alone for a graveyard of family and friends, and imagining their hollow applause to fill the oppressive silence.

 

One day he would no longer be forced to fight for survival. He could set aside his blade and instead bring happiness to the living. It was an impossible dream. He knew this war had already been lost before he even joined the fray. But—

 

 _Hope will never die_ , he heard her say over and over, convincing herself as much as she was rallying her dwindling followers. And Inigo couldn't help but believe in _her_.

 

He followed her, even as she led him and the other unfortunate souls straight toward the jaws of the Devil itself. Lucina fought with steely passion, driven by Exalted blood and the sheer determination to set things right.

 

(Because this world was _wrong_ , they felt the sickly pressure in the very air they breathed; it was never meant to be this way. They were only staving off the inevitable, but no, no, Inigo _had_ to live, the weight of the ring he wore as a pendant was his daily reminder.)

 

If he had a fraction of Lucina's courage, Inigo caught himself thinking so many times, maybe he _could_ make a difference. Maybe he could be someone the others depended on.

 

If only a little.

 

* * *

 

Every day Inigo found himself daring to hope a little more, daring to cry a little less. He was comforted to know he was not alone, even when he still felt like he was.

 

But Lucina struck him as the loneliest of all. He admired her from a distance, too intimidated to reach out to the last Exalt of Ylisse. He knew her before the crown, but she seemed so much older now (not that all of them hadn't been forced to grow up too soon, kids pretending to be adults, Lucina carrying more weight than any of them.) It hurt sometimes to see her like that.

 

As much as he looked up to her, she must look down on him; he knew his first impression was hardly a favorable one. And the second, and the third after that— and as he got to know his companions outside of the battlefield, they could only confirm what he already knew.

 

He would never be taken seriously. And that was alright. Inigo would settle for a smile.

 

He would be the fool if it meant he could create a tiny glimmer of happiness where there was none to be found. But while he could always tease a laugh out of Owain, share a knowing grin with Cynthia, or embarrass himself for Severa and Brady's amusement— the one smile he could never earn was Lucina's.

 

Her smiles had died with her father. Inigo knew the feeling all too well.

 

But even if his plastic optimism was a poor cover, his smile strained with the effort it took to maintain it: the seed of hope Lucina gave him was true. It would never die, like she promised. It took root in his chest and he would tend to it and one day, his heart would not be barren soil, it would bloom and—

 

Someday, someday, he could smile honestly again. Gods, if only he could bring hope to Lucina.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was not his clumsy attempts to joke, his awkward flattery, the times he tried to break her stoic façade with roughhousing or tickling or teasing. It was not even the times he risked his life to guard Lucina's back, or the foolhardy quest he embarked on to return one of the lost gems to the Emblem for her.

 

It was Naga that gave them all the choice, Naga that could give Lucina the chance to smile again— to see her father alive again. They knew they would be separated: not only by distance, but by years. But Lucina smiled, and he knew her answer.

 

He would follow her there, too, and leave behind everything he could not save. (A single flower, wilting by an abandoned grave.)

 

Inigo wept openly as they said their goodbyes, their promises; swore to be reunited on the other side, to carve out a better life for their families. To find the happiness they could never have in this lifetime. To believe in something greater than themselves.

 

When she became _he_ , when Severa braided Lucina's hair and pinned it short beneath the mask Gerome crafted, when Kjelle taught her to bind her chest flat and walk with broader strides, when Lucina became _Marth—_

 

That was when Inigo felt his heart finally break for her. Because if he had a fraction of Lucina's bravery (the iron will to leap through time and bend it to _his_ design), he could have told her how he felt about her. If he was brave, he could have poured his heart out, and maybe his feelings would not have fallen short.

 

(And gods, she had never looked more beautiful than she did then: washed in the glow of Naga's divine power, gripping Falchion with white knuckles, striding forward into the unknown and never looking back.)

 

Inigo's hand moved of its own accord, stretching toward her, but she was always out of reach. Always alone at the front.

 

He watched her back one last time, vanishing into the portal without him. He felt, rather than saw, Owain take his hand, saying nothing but gripping too-tight; Cynthia taking his other hand, whispering something he did not hear.

 

He closed his eyes and he squeezed both of their hands back, for courage.

 

* * *

 

His fingers twitched, but there was nothing to grasp. Inigo woke in a field of flowers, alone in an unfamiliar world.

 

The swordsman sat up slowly, in a daze. He did not know there could be this much green in one place. The air was clean and light, tasted sweet on his tongue. Sunlight warmed his upturned cheeks, unobscured by clouds.

 

This was… impossible.

 

It was a world without Grima's blight. A world where Inigo had never been born.

 

His hands fumbled underneath his tunic, pulling out the small weight of the ring nestled close to his heartbeat. He brought the warmed gold to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the family heirloom. He made it. He would find the Olivia of this world, wherever and whomever she may be, and protect her the way he never could as a child. He would be stronger here. He would believe.

 

He would learn to be brave, honestly brave, not just bravado. And in time, someone, somewhere, would depend on him.

 

"Hope will never die," he whispered to himself, smile crooked as he let his hands fall.

 

Inigo curled in on himself as he broke down and sobbed, smiling through his tears.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...this fic doesn't confirm inigo's father so you can HC what you want. but this is my writing and i am Very Predictable, so you can make assumptions about olivia asking her [queer friend with a fake smile](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3450074) to help her conceive a baby :) 
> 
> :) feel free to yell at me on twitter @magepaw


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